


Elevator Fics Are My Favorite

by taylor_tut



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Fever, Gen, Nick Fury is a Good Bro, Overworked Tony Stark, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Nick Fury, Sick Character, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has Issues, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 07:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Fury sends Tony home sick, but a power outage traps him in an elevator with Clint, instead. They have a bit of a heart to heart.





	Elevator Fics Are My Favorite

 

Tony was trying his hardest to pay attention as Fury spoke, but found himself cringing away from the light of the room, shivering against the chill that had clung to him since he stepped foot into the cool March evening air. 

“Stark,” Fury barked, earning a startled jump and a scolded look, “are you even listening?” Tony nodded, took a deep breath, pressed his palms firmly into his eye sockets, and shrugged. He’d been listening, sure, but most if not all of the points that Fury was trying to make were going in one ear and out the other, sounding like white noise and static. His head hurt.  His bones hurt. He wanted to sleep. 

Fury studied him a bit closer, his train of thought seeming to pause while he looked Tony over. “You weren’t hurt in the battle yesterday, were you?” he asked, taking in Tony’s pallor and sweat-glistening forehead. He sure as hell looked like someone who’d taken a hit and was trying to hide it, but Tony shook his head. 

“I think it’s a migraine,” he admitted, much to Fury’s surprise. It usually took a lot more prodding and a brush or two with death to get Tony to admit weakness. Maybe it was a sign that the spider kid was having a positive influence on him; maybe the pain was just too severe to ignore; maybe he was just too tired to keep pretending and trusted Nick enough to ask for one night off.

Whatever the case, Fury nodded, turning Tony around toward the elevators and prodding him gently toward them with a hand on his back. The back of his shirt was damp and hot, making him believe that this was more likely the beginnings of a flu bug than a migraine, but that wasn’t an argument he needed to initiate right now. 

“Go on home, Stark,” he instructed sternly, “get some rest. We’re not done talking, but we’ll save it for a day you’re actually paying attention.” 

Instead of a clever quip about how he never paid attention when other people were talking, Tony just nodded exhaustedly and allowed the elevator button to be pressed for him. When the doors opened, he stepped inside, not even bothering to open his eyes when Fury stopped the closing of the door with his hands. 

“Barton,” Fury called, and Tony could feel someone who’d clearly been looking at his phone instead of the elevator doors snap to attention, “make sure Stark gets to his car, and that his driver is waiting. If not, text me; I want someone to drive him home.” 

Clint looked a bit confused, but nodded anyway. “On it, Boss,” he agreed, shifting his gaze to Tony as the doors shut once more. He raised an eyebrow at Tony’s slumped posture and barely-open eyes. “You look like shit,” he remarked. Tony shivered. 

“Yeah, I think I just need some sleep,” Tony replied in a gravelly, exhausted voice. Two things that stuck out to Clint immediately: the words “I think,” and Tony actually admitting to needing sleep. 

But before Clint could reply, the elevator stalled, and the lights flickered off, leaving only one emergency bulb casting yellowish light to illuminate the small box. 

“What the hell,” Clint cursed, pressing the “door open” button frantically and cursing once more when they opened to just a brick wall, which he stared at for a moment before the doors slid shut again. 

Tony slid down the elevator wall heavily, resting in a crouch for a moment before splaying his legs out in front of him and sighing, his head lolling backward and his eyes closing. Clint paid him no mind, choosing to focus on trying to get Fury’s attention with the “emergency call” button. 

“Hello?” he called loudly, facing away from Tony and therefore missing his wince, “who’s out there? We’re stuck!” He pounded on the door with his fist a few times for good measure.

“Cut that out,” Tony bit, “it’s loud.” 

Clint grimaced, and was about to turn around, but was interrupted by a static noise from the intercom as it buzzed to life.

“Agent Barton, Stark,” Fury’s voice replied, “I take it you’re trapped in the elevator?”

“Gee, how’d you guess?” Tony bit, and though Fury heard the snarky remark, he elected to ignore it. 

“The power is out in the whole building,” he replied, “and the generator doesn’t power the elevators. What floor are you on?”

Clint had been looking at Tony rather than the floor numbers, and Tony’s eyes had been closed. 

“No clue,” Barton replied. “How long until someone can get us out?” 

“Maintenance is on the way now,” Fury reassured, “but I don’t know how long it’ll be before they fix it.”

“You’d think the top agents of an espionage agency would know  _ something _ ,” Tony muttered. 

“Why are you so crabby?” Clint asked. 

“Why are you so  _ annoying _ ?” Tony countered. 

Clint frowned. “Combination of good genes and dedication to the sport,” he replied, “but I asked you first.” 

“Stark is sick,” he supplied, “which is why I sent him home. He needs rest and fluids.” 

Tony huffed in annoyance. This wasn’t what he needed to be doing right now. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d planned on actually going to bed when he got back to the tower or if he’d have tried to push through the exhaustion to work in the lab, but whatever he would’ve decided, sitting on a cold elevator floor with Clint Barton was not on the list of approved activities.

“Well, I don’t have water or anything,” Clint sighed, “and it’s really heating up in here.”

At this, Tony glared. “Are you kidding?” he challenged, shivering hard and wrapping his hands around his arms for warmth. “It’s freezing.” 

Clint frowned, a beige note of uncertainty undercutting his nonchalance. “Just tell the maintenance people to hurry.”

As Fury hustled off to do whatever he could to scare the workers into working faster, Clint plopped down in the corner opposite Tony and leaned back against the wall of the elevator. 

“Damn, wish I’d told Fury to call Laura and tell her I’m not gonna make it home tonight.” Tony grunted in understanding, but didn’t reply. His cheeks were red-flushed, his posture screaming misery, but Clint would have expected this level of drama even if Tony had been perfectly well, really, in a situation like this. The complaints of having better things to do and needing caffeine were fewer and farther between than he’d expected, but the overall message read loud and clear: Tony didn’t want to be here.

“Probably should’ve eaten dinner before my meeting, too,” Clint continued. If he was going to be trapped in here with the Avenger he had possibly objectively the least in common with, he could at least shoot the shit, right?

Apparently, not right. Tony paled a shade and shook his head. 

“Please, don’t talk about food,” he requested, crossing his arms over his knees and burrying his head in the crook of his elbows. 

“Fine, sorry,” Clint rolled his eyes. “What do you want to talk about?” 

No reply.

“Tony?” 

Tony pulled his head up to glare harshly at Clint, squinting against even the dim light of the elevator. 

“What?” he bit back. “Can’t I just not want to talk about anything? Fuckin’ Christ; everyone always needs  _ something _ .” The last part was muttered so under his breath that Clint wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to hear it, but he supposed that that was probably Tony’s perspective: if it weren’t one of the Avengers needing upgrades to weapons, it was one of his business associates, or SHIELD, or some purple thumb-lookin’ motherfucker from space.

“Right,” Clint caved, “okay. Sorry.”

Tony sighed, a shivery, tired breath of warm, congested air. He looked scolded but didn’t rescind  the comment. The longer the silence persisted, the more Clint felt obligated to fix it. 

“Hey, I know that, uh… things happened,” Clint started, trailing off for a moment, “but we’re all still on the same team, y’know. And like… even me and Cap don’t hate you. Or Nat.”

Tony blinked in confusion. “Why would Nat hate me?” he asked, provoking an eye roll from Clint. 

“Not what I mean,” he replied, wincing at the sincere shock in Tony’s face. “Even if things keep happening, we’re never gonna hate either of you. ‘Cause we’re a family.”

It was the exhaustion, or perhaps the migraine, that made Tony have to swallow a lump that started to form in his throat. He swiped at his eyes, coughed harshly while his elbow was already right there. 

“Oh, shit,” Clint cursed, “I didn’t mean to make you—”

“—Don’t say it,” Tony curtailed, just as Clint finished the sentence, “upset.”

“I know,” Tony nodded. “I’m just tired.” 

“I think you’re a lot more than tired,” Clint corrected, reaching across the elevator space and a few of the wordless boundaries between their tentative friendship to press a hand to Tony’s forehead. “Jesus,” he cursed at the heat, “that’s a serious fucking fever, Tones.”

Tony nodded tiredly, blinking as if he could barely keep his eyes open. “Not much we can do ‘bout it, here,” he admitted, and Clint couldn’t argue that.

“Try to get some rest,” Clint instructed, pulling Tony sideways so that his head could rest on Clint’s shoulder, “or some sleep or something. I’m sure they’ll have us out of here in no time.”

There was no use believing anything different, so Tony just let his eyes slip shut.


End file.
